


indelible marks

by wearing_tearing



Series: reality warping [9]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Drunken Shenanigans, Fluff, Hangover, M/M, Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Tattoos, Very Brief Mentions of Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-03
Updated: 2016-07-03
Packaged: 2018-07-19 17:10:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7370437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearing_tearing/pseuds/wearing_tearing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right there, inked on some stranger’s butt, is <em>Steve’s name</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	indelible marks

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 

Steve is dying.

Steve is dying and he has no idea where he is. He only knows that he’s naked and sore and the room is so bright it makes his entire self want to curl up and stop existing until he feels okay again.

Oh, and his ass is _killing him_.

Steve makes a little wounded sound in the back of his throat, blinking his eyes open only to immediately regret his decision when it makes his head throb. He licks his dry lips, grimacing at the awful taste in his mouth, and shifts a little in what he hopes is his bed, wincing when it pulls at the skin of his asscheek, making it burn.

“What the fuck,” Steve mumbles, voice hoarse.

And then almost falls out of the bed when someone answers, “‘M tryin’ to sleep.”

As it is, Steve yelps and scrambles away, the sudden movement making his stomach churn and bile rise in his throat. He gets his feet under him and dashes to the bathroom, just in time to kneel in front of the toilet and empty his stomach.

At least now Steve knows he’s in his own apartment. Nevermind that he knows this because his toilet looks awfully familiar when he’s throwing up in it.

“Shit,” someone says from the bed, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching. “Are you okay?”

Steve rests his forehead on his arm and gives whoever he brought home a thumbs up. He does feel a little better, but he still waits a few seconds to see if his stomach won’t turn on him again.

A cold  glass of water appears in front of him, which Steve takes with a small ‘thank you’. He rinses his mouth twice then drinks the rest of the water, letting out a small sigh once he’s done.

Steve doesn’t much feel like he’s dying anymore, which is a good thing. So he sets down the glass and risks getting up, glad when he feels a hand on his arm helping him to his feet. And just as Steve is about to turn and finally face the person who he probably had a fantastic one night stand with, he catches sight of their reflections in the mirror.

Or better yet, he catches sight of the _guy’s ass_ in the mirror.

An ass that would look absolutely _fantastic_ if it wasn’t for the _tattoo_ on it.

And not just any tattoo, but one that perfectly spells out, in fancy lettering, three little words that almost make Steve throw up again.

Because right there, inked on some stranger’s butt, is _Steve’s name_.

“Oh my god,” Steve whispers, and he doesn’t know if the world is spinning because he’s still drunk or because some _guy_ has Steve’s _name tattooed on his ass._

 _Forever_.

“What?”

And that’s when Steve sees him.

The guy.

Not just his firm and round ass, his sculpted back, his broad shoulders. Steve sees _all of him_. His long brown hair that is a mess of knots from having someone’s — _Steve’s_ — fingers run through it all night, his full pink lips, stubbled jaw, his grey-blue eyes. Eyes that widen when they catch sight of the mirror’s reflection. Eyes that are so familiar to Steve that his breath catches in his throat.

“Bucky?”

“What the _fuck?_ ” Bucky gapes at his reflection, hand letting go of Steve’s arm so he can grab his own ass. “Is that a fuckin’ tattoo?”

“Uh.” Steve blinks, thoughts reeling as flashes from last night come back to him, mind stuck on the fact that it’s _Bucky_ standing in front of him, naked and beautiful and looking like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry or pass out.

“Is that your _name_ on my ass?!” Bucky asks, tone pitched high and filled with disbelief.

“Uh.”

“ _Steve_?”

Bucky turns to him and Steve’s heart flips in his chest, entire body flushing with warmth at having Bucky so close to him. And that’s when Steve’s brain finally catches up to him and registers that _his_ ass still kind of hurts.

Steve twirls around so fast he trips on his own feet and almost falls, saved at the last minute by Bucky’s arms going around his waist, his hands sure and strong on Steve’s hips.

“Careful,” Bucky murmurs, breath ghosting over the soft skin of Steve’s neck, making him shiver.

“I’m fine,” Steve answers, a little shakily. “Let me just…”

Bucky’s hands fall from his hips as he takes a step back. Steve mourns the touch, but at the moment he has more important things to worry about than getting Bucky’s hands on him again. And when Steve looks at his own reflection on his small bathroom mirror, well...

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky says, eyes glued to Steve’s ass.

 _Oh, fuck_ sounds about right, in Steve’s opinion.

Because right there, written on his ass, also in fancy lettering, is the name: _James Buchanan Barnes_.

*

Steve meets Bucky on his first day of college.

Bucky is funny and beautiful and smart, and Steve is glad that out of all the people he could be rooming with, that person gets to be Bucky. Bucky, who laughs at his own jokes and throws his dirty socks at Steve’s head and chews on his pencils when he’s thinking. Bucky, who loves bad science-fiction movies and snores in his sleep and calls his Ma every Sunday. Bucky, who pets every dog that crosses his path and throws an arm around Steve’s shoulders when they’re walking and smells like sweat and coffee and something else that makes Steve's mouth water.

Steve is maybe a little bit in love with him.

Just maybe.

Whatever.

It’ll probably go away.

*

It doesn’t go away.

It’s been five years and it’s still true.

Steve is maybe, okay, _definitely,_ a little bit in love with Bucky.

*

“No,” Steve says, closing his eyes so he doesn’t have to stare at Bucky’s name on his ass. “This is not— This is. _No_.”

“Stevie.” Bucky’s hands back on his arm feel like both heaven and hell at the same time. “It’s okay, c’mon.”

“How is us having each other’s names tattooed on our asses _okay_?” Steve snaps, opening his eyes again only so he can glare at Bucky.

Bucky shrugs one shoulder. “Better than on our foreheads, at least.”

Steve just blinks at Bucky, too horrified at the thought of it.

“Hey,” Bucky says, palms sliding down Steve’s arms so he can link his fingers through Steve’s, “we can both deal with this after we’re feeling a little more human, okay?” Bucky gives him a soft smile, and then adds, “And maybe when we’re wearing more clothes.”

Steve takes in a shaky breath, cheeks flushing as he lets his gaze trail over Bucky’s naked body. He can see evidence of last night in every bruise Bucky has adorning his chest, stomach, and thighs, reminders of what they did together. It makes him hot, something possessive stirring in the pit of his stomach, knowing he’s the one who put those marks there.

It’s a huge contrast to the panic he feels at thinking about the _other_ mark, though, the tattoo. That one feels too permanent, too much like a _brand_ when that’s the last thing Steve wants to place on someone.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, squeezing Bucky’s hands in his.

Whatever softness there was in Bucky’s expressions changes to caution, at the same time the lines around his mouth tighten and his shoulders tense. “What are you sorry for?” Bucky asks, licking his lips.

“What do you mean?” Steve stares at him, baffled. “Buck, you have my name tattooed on your _ass_! Forever!”

“Oh,” Bucky says, and Steve doesn’t understand why he looks so relieved. “It’s fine.”

“What do you _mean_ it’s fine?”

“We can remove it,” Bucky tells him. “Or cover it with something else.”

Steve opens and closes his mouth a few times, not really knowing what to say. “What?”

Bucky sighs, taking a step closer and leaning into Steve’s personal space. Steve swallows, eyes falling to Bucky’s lips and watching as they curl up in a smile.

“I’m just glad this is what you’re sorry about,” Bucky says quietly, “and not, you know, us.”

“Buck,” Steve whispers, letting go of Bucky’s hands so he can wrap his arms around Bucky’s neck, ignoring the soft line of Bucky’s dick against his own. “I wouldn’t. Never.”

“We were kinda wasted,” Bucky mumbles against Steve’s neck, arms tight around Steve’s waist. “Figured it was too good to be true, too easy for one of us to say we didn’t mean it.”

Steve’s heart breaks a little at that. He remembers most of last night: him and Bucky at a club with Sam and Natasha, the drinks that didn’t stop coming, the laughter. He remembers Bucky dragging him to the dance floor, their bodies flush together as they moved, Bucky’s hands on his hip, holding on tightly.

Steve remembers _wanting_. He remembers wanting Bucky so strongly he could barely breathe with it, and at that time, with the taste of alcohol on his lips, it was the easiest thing in the world to lean in and take Bucky’s lips with his.

“I meant it,” Steve tells him, placing a small kiss to Bucky’s hair. “I still mean it.”

“Good.”

Steve hugs Bucky tighter, a knot loosening in his chest. “I mean, not enough to have your name on my ass for the rest of our lives, but…”

Bucky laughs, body shaking and flush against Steve’s. “Yeah, that was a bad idea.”

Steve makes a face at himself. “It was my idea, wasn’t it?”

Bucky downright _giggles_ this time around, the sound bringing a smile to Steve’s lips. “Yes,” he admits, pulling back so he can stare at Steve. “Something about the world needing to know how much we lo—,” Bucky cuts off, looking hesitant again. “Well, I obviously agreed, so.”

Steve opens his mouth to answer, but wrinkles his nose when he gets a whiff of his own breath. “Let me brush my teeth first.”

Bucky snorts and lets go of him, handing Steve his toothbrush before grabbing a spare for himself. Steve feels a little flutter of happiness at that, at knowing Bucky is as comfortable here as he is at his own place.

Once they’re done, Steve leads them back to his room, not wanting to have this conversation in the same place he just puked his guts out. He throws a pair of his sweats and an old shirt he stole from Bucky back in their sophomore year at Bucky’s head before slipping into a pair of gym shorts and a hoodie that’s seen better days.

They lie down, facing each other, on the bare mattress after stripping the bed, not wanting to run the risk of getting their clothes dirty. Steve takes Bucky’s hand in his, thumb rubbing circles over his knuckles, eager to touch him now that he’s allowed.

“Hi,” Steve says quietly, smiling when Bucky shuffles closer and tangles their legs together.

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs, eyes alight, index finger tapping lightly over Steve’s wrist.

“I want to get the tattoo removed.”

“Me too,” Bucky replies. “Not too fond of having that godawful name on my ass.”

Steve snorts. “Says you, _James Buchanan_. I obviously got the worst end of the deal here.”

Bucky scrunches up his nose and Steve doesn’t stop himself from closing the distance between them and kissing it. Bucky rolls his eyes, but the slight pink on his cheeks gives away how pleased he is at the gesture. So Steve kisses him again, this time on the dimple on his chin, just once, light and quick.

“Doesn’t mean any of this has to change,” Steve says, both of them so close they share the same breath. “Because I’ll still—,” Steve takes a deep breath, figuring if he can convince Bucky to get a tattoo on his ass, he can be brave and say this: “I’ll still love you the same way.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, and then tilts his head and brushes his lips against Steve’s, soft and sweet and full of promises. “I love you, too.”

*

Steve can’t believe he’s doing this.

“Are we really doing this?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow at him. “Do you wanna back out?”

Steve scoffs. “No, just… Are you sure?”

“Steve,” Bucky says, hands coming up to cup Steve’s cheeks, bringing their faces close. “I am absolutely one-hundred percent sure I want to do this.”

“This is a big deal,” Steve tells him, as if Bucky doesn’t know.

“I know.” Bucky looks amused, eyes crinkling at the corners as he fights back a smile. “But we’ve done this before. Well, kinda.”

“That was two years ago,” Steve points out. “And we were drunk.”

“Just means this means more this time around.” Bucky trails his hands down Steve’s neck and grab his shoulders, thumbs digging in a little. “Are _you_ sure?”

And Steve, well. Steve looks at the man he loves and gives him the only answer he can, “Yes.”

*

Steve is in heaven.

Steve is in heaven and he is exactly where he wants to be.

He makes a little pleased sound in the back of his throat, blinking his eyes open only to smile at the sight that greets him. He licks his dry lips, taking in Bucky sprawled next to him on the bed, hair a mess, mouth open in his sleep. Steve shifts on _their_ bed, wincing when the movement pulls at the skin of his chest.

“‘M trying to sleep,” Bucky mumbles, but doesn’t resist when Steve pulls him closer with a hand on his waist.

“Okay,” Steve answers, lips to Bucky’s temple, hand sliding up to rest right under Bucky’s heart.

And there, written in fancy lettering, matching Steve’s own tattoo, are six little words that mean everything to both of them:

 _Til the end of the line_.

**Author's Note:**

> forever thanks to [myladyday](LINK) for reading this over for me :*
> 
>  
> 
> [on tumblr ~](http://hawkguyz.tumblr.com/post/146814566376/indelible-marks)


End file.
